


Nichtenfell

by AvidBookLover2001



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, I'llAddMoreAsIWrite, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 16:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18877300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvidBookLover2001/pseuds/AvidBookLover2001
Summary: Eggsy lucks his way into the world of Kingsman but darkness doesn't stop following him. Barely escaping the throes of Dean, he finds himself at the precipice of action, and he doesn't have to be told twice to save the world. He finds Harry; he finds love and then he loses it all. Will his luck change?Please read... I absolutely suck at summaries.





	Nichtenfell

           Some men wear a golden cross under their clothes. Others wear a simple chain, and a few wear nothing at all. I wear the medal of a dead man, and I worship it like a god. I would give my life for that medal, like my father did to earn it.

         “Boy! Get me a beer,” says the low-life, lazy fucker that is my stepdad and after a slight twitch of my left eye, I start towards the kitchen even though he’s closer to the refrigerator and the beer is for him not for me.

  
             It’s better this way, me doing what he says and keeping my mouth shut, and in exchange he lays off for a while. Not an especially long while, but… still.

  
            I let the beer fall from my hands and thunk into his awaiting grip but before I could turn and leave the room, he grabbed the edge of my jacket and pulled suddenly, causing me to stumble and lean forward into his close proximity. I was close enough to smell the disgusting odor of cheap menthols and the acidic tingle of beer.

  
             “We’re having a guest over tonight,” he said with a slight upturn of his upper lip.

  
             “You better act on your best behavior, or I’ll make sure that we have a guest over every night of the month.”

             I shivered. He was whoring me out. Again.

             “Yes, sir.” I said, eyes downcast, and with pursed lips.

             I couldn’t do anything; I couldn’t stop him and I couldn’t beg him. I simply waited until he released me so that I could go to my room and wait until the night brought me more terrors.

             I lay on my rumpled, unmade bed and after a few seconds of hesitation, I called Jamal.

             “‘Sup, wanker. How’s the job-life treatin’ you?” I said. Jamal had scored a job at Denny Demasco’s sub-shop and though Ryan and I teased him about it, we were both very happy for him. It was a clean, safe job, different than the one we had. I whored and Ryan ran drugs… different things but the same dark corner.

             “Eh, boring, you know? I’m usually in the back washing dishes or sometimes they let me out in the front, scrubbing tables and the like. Nothing you want to hear.” After a second or two of silence, he asked, “Is Dean okay today?”

             He knew, along with Ryan, how deep Dean’s abuse ran and they were both always present when I was too weak to go to the free clinic or passed out before I could tend to my wounds.

             “I think so. It’s whatever. Mum’s out today, says she got herself a desk job. Dunno if I believe her but it’s better than being here, I guess.” I sighed and suddenly felt like I was taking up Jamal’s time so I came up with a bullshit excuse for why I had to go and ended the call. We both knew I had absolutely nothing to do.

             Suddenly, I saw a movement outside my window and I looked out through the blinds. Dean was walking out and towards the corner shop, probably for some more smokes or booze or whatever fancies him. My stomach rumbled and I secretly hoped for that he would realize that there was nothing to eat in the kitchen. That he would realize that he should feed his stepson.

             I closed my eyes for a while, a few minutes probably and I opened them to see Dean back and coming in through the front door. He was clutching at the long neck of a bottle of vodka, holding a few bags of crisps, and speaking on his mobile.

             I remember whispering into the air, to no one, “Please let it be for me. Please let it be for me. Please.”

             I heard his footsteps as he walked to the living room and sat on his recliner and I heard his voice speaking to his friend on the phone. I hesitantly walked over to him and waited until he turned his gaze to me, hideous brown eyes looking into mine.

             He didn’t even bother to address me, ear glued to his mobile.

             “Did you buy something for me, then?” I asked.

             Without even putting down his phone, he leaned forward, eyebrows pulled down, and said with a voice so cold, so hostile that my eyes widened a little even though I was already expecting the worst, “Do you want mine?”

             His hand, holding the bag of crisps, was shoved towards my own and he said, “Take it, then. Take it.”

             With a sudden tremor in my hand, I lurched away and responded, “No, I don’t want it,” even though I did and even though I hadn’t eaten anything that day. I refused and retreated like a hurt animal to my room. He hadn’t hit me, he hadn’t bruised me, but I would never forget that voice, as if it was a horrible thing I did, asking him for food.

             So, I sat there on my bed looking out my window and at the neighbor’s dogs or at a car turning onto the road, waiting for my guest.

             And he came and he fucked me.

             I remember all of their faces, the color of their hair and their eyes, the size of their lips and of their bodies, their age, the amount of hair on their heads. I memorized their appearance, not because I liked them, but because I wanted to remember so that I could kill them if I ever got out of here. If I ever got out from under Dean’s hand.

             That day it was a man who told me to call him Mr. Walkerfell and I chuckled to satisfy his need for praise at that dreadful pun. He had hair a few shades darker than mine, cut closely at the sides and the front falling like a sheet when tussled. His eyes were dark brown, lighter than Dean’s but dark enough to sparkle when I cried out in pain.

             He fucked me from behind, hands gripping my hips, nails digging into my skin, as he said over and over again, filthy things which he thought would arouse me but only succeeded in turning him on.

             “Take it, slut.” He said with a groan as he fucked into me and I pretended to like it. I moaned like a pornstar all while I was imagining food, being able to eat.

             He left me with cum splattered on my back and a used condom on the floor. They always gave the money to Dean, not to me, and I waited until Dean fell asleep before I snuck into the kitchen and stole a packet of soup crackers I found in one the cabinets. Mum didn’t come home for weeks and when she did, Dean gave her the worst beating he ever did. I couldn’t help her because he had locked me in my room and I could only her wounded noises, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh and the thuds of her body slamming into places.

             I remember she was gone after that too, probably in the hospital or with a friend who knew how to fix her. And, again, I was left alone with Dean and the occasional guest.

             It was then, when everything exploded. Turned into minuscule shards of glass, billowed up into clouds of light and forged my life into brilliance.

             It was then, when Kingsman entered my life.


End file.
